30 Shades of Red
by Ebony10
Summary: A collection of 30 shorts/drabbles. Most Jisbon utimately Jisbon , but a lot simply Lisbon/Jane centric. Each chapter will alternate viewpoints.
1. Lollipop Red

30 Shades of Red:

Lollipop Red

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He watched as the little girl dropped her lollipop. The red globe glistened on its bright white stick as it lay there on the ground. Jane gazed at it dispassionately.

His daughter had loved red lollipops. He could still remember the first time she had tried one, wary yet eager. He remembered how she had cautiously put it in her mouth as instructed, not sure what to expect. Her eyes had widened and she had sucked furiously, trying to get more of the wonderful flavor from the sweet. He had laughed and from then on, she had developed a great passion for lollipops, but especially for the red ones.

It wasn't her favorite color (that had been purple), but she had loved the taste more than anything. He had taken to giving her one whenever she did something good and, to be honest, whenever he felt the urge strike him. She had indeed had him wrapped around her little finger.

Although his wife had teasingly chastised him about not ever being the one to have to clean the remains of the sugary confection from her face, hair, clothes, toys (the list was endless, really) he had shrugged it off. He knew that neither of them could deny their daughter something so simple that made her so happy.

Looking at the pouting face of the little girl in front of him, he remembered his daughter's smile, liberally painted with sticky red as she smacked her lips in contentment. He watched as the child's mother quickly scooped up the fallen candy as if she expected her child to try to salvage it. She threw it in a nearby trash, retrieving another sucker from her purse as she ushered her daughter on down the park's path. A blue lollipop this time. The child took it, but looked longingly back at the trash can that held her red lollipop.

Jane felt that it was strangely fitting that the red lollipop, the very kind his daughter so loved, lay in the trash can, tainted and forgotten. It was irrational and petty, he knew, but it seemed to him for a brief moment that if his daughter couldn't enjoy it, no one should. The feeling would pass and he would feel slightly guilty for it, but it was there none the less.

Eventually, he would be able to look at a red lollipop and think of it as nothing more than candy.


	2. Green is for Go, Red Means

Not quite sure about what happened to Lisbon's mother aside from something about death and I think a drunk driver, maybe. So, sorry if I got it wrong. Just go with it! Thanks!

Also, in case you hadn't realized, these chapters will not particularly be connected. They are just a collection of shorts or drabbles that may or may not go together. The only thing they really have in common is the use of red.  Enjoy! (and I'd love to see someone else's version of 30 Shades of Red)

30 Shades of Red:

Green is for Go, Red Means...

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As a child, she had loved to go fast. She had always giggled when her Dad sped through the "pink" lights, feeling the excitement of the moment and the exhilaration of triumph at making it through. She was always disappointed to see a red stop light, knowing that there would be no race to make it, no shared moment of pride between her father and herself. She had loved yellow lights.

When her mother was killed in a drunk driving accident, she realized just how much bigger cars were than people. How much they weighed. How they could become weapons. Tons of sturdy metal against the frail bodies of flesh and bone. Just as her mother's body had been no match for both her own car and the car which had plowed into it, Lisbon felt that in a match between car and man, the car would always win.

That was why she drove slowly and cautiously. That was why she was always secretly glad to see a red light, even if she still hated them (a gut instinct that she, apparently, couldn't force herself to lose). Unlike yellow lights, red lights never created that moment of tension when she had to restrain the urge to rush through the intersection, the urge to race through to a victory that she felt connected her to her father and her childhood.

Of course, she always ruthlessly controlled the urge, but it annoyed her that it was there anyway. And for that reason, she was starting to dislike yellow lights now. She hated not being in control of her emotions. So Jane was partly right. Her need to be the driver was, indeed, a need for control.

But it was more a control she needed to feel over her emotions. It was silly. The colors of traffic lights meant so little, and yet so much, to normal people.

Green is for go.

Yellow: yield, stop if possible.

Red: stop.

Jane, like her father, liked to speed up through yellow lights. She didn't think he noticed he did it. She didn't think he even thought about it in conjunction with his personality. She didn't analyze it; she just made sure she was the one who would drive.

There were a few inevitable times that she had to allow another to drive, whether it was Jane, Rigsby, or Cho. Van Pelt was fine. If possible, she was even more cautious than Lisbon.

So, it wasn't until she had injured both hands (nothing serious, just an irritating infliction that forced her to rearrange her life in minute, annoying ways) that she realized that maybe, just maybe, she hadn't given Jane enough credit. As the member of the team with the fewest responsibilities and obligations to the Bureau, he had been ferrying her around. After the first few trips, she realized that he was carefully calculating the timing of the lights, making sure to adjust his speed in order to avoid being close enough to the intersection during yellow lights that would provide any sort of temptation. The lights were generally either green or red.

She thought it may be a coincidence, but during rush hour traffic when there was no avoiding the yellow light she must have unknowingly tensed, waiting for Jane to speed through to the other side. Surprisingly, he slowed and stopped before the crosswalk. He didn't speak, for once not giving her a verbal rundown of her personality and behavioral traits. He reached over, still looking straight ahead, and placed a firm, gentle hand on her arm before putting it back the steering wheel. This simple, fleeting touch calmed her. He knew that traffic lights meant something to her, were some connection to her past. And, this time, she didn't feel uncomfortable about him "reading" her. She mused distractedly over this odd acceptance of his perceptiveness.

Green is for go, red means...

Well, it wasn't so much the extremes that troubled her, but the middle ground. Understandable. Predictable, really, if one thought about it. As an adult, Lisbon never liked the unknown. She had changed. That unconscious thrill that was linked to her childhood couldn't counter the fact that she was starting to really hate yellow lights. And her childhood dislike of slowing down, of stopping, of red lights, was not powerful enough to overcome the fact that her adult self was instinctively wary—a fact that had saved her life many times in the field.

Red could grow on a person, really.


	3. Lips of Red

Thirty Shades of Red:

Lips of Red

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He stared at her lips.

He didn't know why he was so fascinated by them lately. Never before had they caught his attention, at least not so consistently.

She had changed her lipstick color.

Not drastically or outrageously, but it was definitely different. Rather than a pale, barely there color, she recently began using a darker, more mature color—with a definite red cast to it. Red lipstick. Not bright red or even deep red. More a...subdued red. Yes, subdued was the right word. At first Jane couldn't understand why no one else noticed, but he had gotten used to being the only one to notice what most would say was an insignificant fact.

The only thing was: _he_ knew it wasn't insignificant. Everything had a meaning behind it. Some meanings were trivial, yes, but not this one. This change in lipstick color signaled something bigger.

Lisbon was ready for a relationship.

The lipstick wasn't the only thing that tipped him off, but it was the clincher. The only thing that Jane couldn't figure out was: with who? He watched her (okay, more than usual), trying to weed out if she had someone specific in mind or if she was just ready in general to try her hand at dating. Oddly, he often found his observant gaze reverting back to her lips. He almost had them memorized now—the contour, texture, color.

That infuriating red, still conservative (he expected nothing less from Lisbon at the workplace) yet somehow daring. On the day he realized he had spent two weeks analyzing Lisbon's change of lipstick, he started to wonder about the meaning behind his reaction.

And, for once, he couldn't talk himself into believing that his own reaction was trivial and should be forgotten.


	4. The Red of a Blushing Bridesmaid

30 Shades of Red:

The Red of a Blushing Bridesmaid

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Lisbon couldn't believe she was wearing a gown with so many ruffles. Her college roommate was getting married and Lisbon was a bridesmaid.

_Always a bridesmaid, never a…_

She sighed. She didn't mind really. It was just that she thought she might be ready to start settling down. As everyone seemed to tell her, she wasn't getting any younger. She studied her reflection in the mirror. She was still young. She wasn't bad looking. Was she getting wrinkles by her eyes?

Laugh lines, she decided, not wrinkles. Or worry lines, she frowned, from all of the stunts Jane has pulled. Looking in the mirror once more brought her attention to the gown she wore. Red and ruffled. No other way to describe it…well, except maybe her friend's revenge for not getting the bigger bedroom when they roomed together. Hey, she had offered.

Well, revenge or not, Lisbon was happy to be included in their wedding. She could tell they were truly in love and she hoped it lasted. Call her cynical, but she saw plenty of failed marriages in her profession, both in cases and coworkers (many spouses couldn't handle the weird hours and dangerous risks that were required of law enforcement).

She shook off the rather depressing thoughts, glancing at her watch. It was almost time. She better put the finishing touches on her makeup. As she reached for the mascara, she let her mind stray to a certain blonde colleague before she mercilessly blocked her thoughts.

Yes, it was time to think about settling down. She tried not to let herself think that she was just plain settling.


	5. Red Texts

So I've written ahead of what I'm posting (I'm starting chapter 13 today). Is there a volunteer to pre-read the chapters to make sure I'm not getting redundant? Let me know! Thanks and enjoy!

30 Shades of Red:

Red Texts

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Patrick Jane didn't like text messages. His new cell phone had this irritating red light that started blinking every time he received a new text message and it wouldn't stop until he opened and read it. He had a history of taking his own sweet time before reading texts because he wasn't particularly fond of them and didn't view them as urgent (his new cell phone apparently didn't agree with that assessment). If someone had something urgent to discuss, they would call him—_not_ send him a text.

So he and his cell phone were at a standoff. That was precisely why he was sitting on the couch at the office at this very moment, staring at his cell phone as it sat on the small table in front of him. Well, more specifically, at the blinking red light on his cell phone.

He was not going to open and read that text message.

It was a matter of principle. Jane did _not_ like texts and, even more so, disliked that irritating red light. Maybe he should return the phone for a different model, he mused.

He noted absently that the office was pretty quiet. Only Cho and Van Pelt were in. He wondered where Lisbon and Rigsby were…

This distraction lasted only a moment before the slow blink of his cell refocused his attention. His stare was gradually turning to a glare, a change that Cho curiously noted and then ignored.

_Blink, blink, blink_...

Jane didn't care. He would triumph over the small, brainless, electronic device. He was a mentalist. _He_ was the manipulator, _not_ the manipulated.

If his wife were still alive, she would be able to tell anyone that there was at least one thing that drove Patrick Jane crazy with annoyance: the not knowing. He couldn't handle not knowing.

So he didn't like text messages. They were a lazy way to communicate, an easy way to hide behind something—a defense mechanism, really. His wife would counter that Patrick was nosy and just wanted to be able to hear the tone of voice so that he could work his "magic." Same reason he didn't like pagers.

Jane had never admitted that she may be right and he wasn't about to start now.

But the blinking light taunted him. It was more than an alert of a new message. It was a continuous alert that there was something he didn't know.

He stared (glared) at his phone for a few more moments before huffing out a breath and lunging forward to snatch it up. Van Pelt, startled at the sudden movement, jumped a bit in her seat before settling back to look at her computer screen.

Jane opened his phone, selecting the correct button to view his new text message:

_Jane, send backup to 5__th__ street. VP and Cho not answering texts. R and I in hostage sit in corner bank._

Quickly glancing at the 'from' line (it was Lisbon), he jumped up and informed Cho and Van Pelt of the situation. Grabbing their coats, they rushed to the door. Van Pelt was already contacting back up.

As he anxiously climbed into the backseat of a company issue SUV, he grudgingly admitted that there were some situations where a text message could come in handy.

Like a hostage situation.

So, while he might heed that damn blinking light from now on, it still didn't mean that he liked text messages.


	6. Red Dot on the Calendar

30 Shades of Red:

Red Dot on the Calendar

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Lisbon prided herself on her professionalism. She was the Job. She was dedicated, experienced, and capable.

But she knew she hadn't always been that way.

It was Sunday. She was sitting at her desk, staring at the calendar on her wall. Staring at today's box, actually. Next to the bold, black numbers indicating the date was a discrete red dot, obviously added by a marker. That dot was a reminder that she hadn't always been the agent she was today.

The office was relatively empty today with her team enjoying a day off. It had been a hectic week. They deserved a break. She had welcomed the chaos, knowing it would keep her mind off the upcoming anniversary. And it had, to a point. She found she preferred when the day fell on a Sunday. It allowed her to be left alone, to think.

She forced herself to remember what happened years ago. It had been her first kill. No one had told her, _warned_ her that she would always wonder if there was an alternative. She would always wonder if she could have done something different. She did that now. She wondered how his life would have been if he was alive. Would he still be a criminal? Would he be in prison? Or would he have found a second chance? Started a family?

On normal days, she would never allow these thoughts to enter her mind. They were useless. There was no changing the past. She had even come to terms with the fact that her job required her to be ruthless at times, but she was never eager. Even though she had found the tired acceptance within her, she could remember the person she had been—throwing up at home after leaving work that day, sitting in the dark that night as if the lack of light would create a lack of memory, as if she wouldn't see his body falling to the ground spilling out blood from the wound _her_ gun had created.

Now, she was experienced. She could understand that people didn't always make it out alive. In fact, it was generally their own choices that led up to their demise. She no longer let it eat her alive from the inside. She no longer dwelled on remembering their faces, wondering at herself.

But every year, the small red dot on her calendar would signal the anniversary of her first time and she found that she couldn't stop herself from marking the day with her red marker. Because even if she could handle it now and refused to doubt herself, she thought it was probably necessary to remember at least one face, one date. That one red dot separated her from being one of the cold killers that she investigated. That small speck of red reminded her that she cared about human beings, but that she couldn't allow herself to dwell on what ifs or could haves.

She briefly wondered how the rest of her team came to grips with their 'firsts,' but just as quickly dismissed the thought. It was an intimate, intensely private coping that agents had to do.

Some unfortunately found solace in alcohol, some with family, some in a hobby. Who could fault her for dealing with it through a small red reminder on her calendar?

She thought that Sunday would be a good day to stop by the cemetery. There was always that flower stand on the corner. Surely they'd have lilies available…

Tomorrow, she'd be back to her normal dedicated, experienced, capable self. But today she would remember a rookie agent and a man who made some unfortunate decisions.


	7. Red Taillights

30 Shades of Red:

Red Taillights

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Since he was a teenager, he had always loved the look of red taillights seemingly floating in the darkness as he drove at night. It didn't matter if he was the passenger or the driver. As a young man, he liked to imagine the lives of the people controlling those lights. He wondered about what they did when they woke, what they liked to eat for breakfast, if they meticulously folded the newspaper when they were done with it or just sort of messily shuffled it back together. He wondered about these small details.

After a while, he tried to see if he could figure any of this out by watching the movements of the lights—did they jerk around (indicating a nervous, easily agitated driver) or slowly drift to one side before righting in a swift movement (an easily distracted personality)? Did they playfully sway back and forth (some cocky high school student out for a joyride) or rigidly continue perfectly within their own lane (maybe a little OCD)?

Of course, one could never decipher a personality just from red lights glistening in the dark of the night, but Jane thought that perhaps that was just another indicator of his adult self. His interests in these things, things he didn't know and yet for some reason yearned to, carried over into his everyday life. It was merely one reason he became a mentalist.

It was the fanciful thought that he could discern a person's life from merely their red taillights that truly displayed his arrogant, glamour-loving younger self—the one that contributed to his career as a 'psychic.'

He was not that person any longer. He was still interested in the personalities, the quirks, of people, but he had willingly if not eagerly given up the glamour.

He no longer concocted stories to go with the lit taillights of the cars in front of him. They were simply lights indicating the skills of the driver.

At least that's what he firmly told himself every time his imagination came out to play.


	8. Superman's Red Cape

Can't remember what kind of siblings Lisbon has, so for this short we are all going to assume that she only has little brothers (yes, plural). Thanks!

30 Shades of Red:

Superman's Red Cape

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Lisbon had a thing for men in capes. Okay, one man in one very specific cape. Superman, to be precise. In his red cape. It was silly and immature and totally not what people would expect of her, but she couldn't help it.

She supposed it was some latent desire for a hero. Probably because she had grown up being the tough one, the one who watched out for her little brothers. She was always the protector so she suspected that her attraction to *ahem* _Superman_ stemmed from wanting to be protected.

This was one of her hidden secrets and she sometimes wondered if it was something she would ever share with someone. Sure, she planned to settle down someday with the right guy, but she often doubted her ability to share her deepest secrets—silly as they may be. She just couldn't see herself willingly opening up like that, leaving herself vulnerable.

And she was okay with no one knowing that she secretly wanted a hero, a protector, a Superman. She was okay with not sharing everything about herself. She could protect herself—heck! She could even protect her family, including any husband she may have in the future. She could wear the cape in the relationship. She was okay with that.

But it didn't stop her from secretly wanting the man in the figurative red cape to sweep into her life. And she found that she was okay with that too.


	9. Red Hot Candies

Thanks for all of the reviews!

30 Shades of Red:

Red Hot (Candies)

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He had never known how tasty these were—these red hot candies. He could understand their appeal.

Small, yet with a fiery burst of cinnamon. Sweet, with a definite bite. Jane began to keep a stash at the office. He didn't have a big sweet tooth (which had always worked out better for him as his wife and daughter had insatiable sweet teeth that seemingly consumed any sugary confection within a 2 mile radius), but he found that he couldn't resist these red hots. It was curious.

Sitting on the couch one day, he let one melt in his mouth, savoring it. He watched Lisbon pass in front of him, heading to her office with her head buried in a file for their current case. He smirked as he remembered how fired up she had gotten over what she termed his latest 'escapade.' His expression turned thoughtful as his memory turned to a sweeter moment—one where she illustrated her full concern for him, showing just how much she cared about every member of her team.

She was rather like the red hot candies, he decided. Sweet, yet fiery.

No wonder he was finding it harder and harder to resist her. He must have a weakness for all manner of red hots. He looked down at the package of small red candies in his hand.

Maybe he should invest in stock…


	10. Red Raspberries

30 Shades of Red:

Red Raspberries

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Teresa Lisbon loved red raspberries. She always had. They reminded her of spring and summer, of sunshine and bare feet. And she probably enjoyed eating raspberries to an unnatural degree, but her affinity for the small fruit could not be denied.

So, it was her guilty little pleasure to eat raspberries at work. There, she downplayed her femininity, becoming simply 'boss.' She was controlled and professional. Eating raspberries was her admittedly small rebellion. She smiled. A rebellion that only she knew about. As wimpy as that may seem, it actually made her feel even more empowered—a secret that she kept from those who knew her and saw her on a daily basis.

She loved them in chocolates, in ice cream, in a dish of fruit, or even straight up by themselves. She prided herself on the fact that no one even realized that they were clearly a favorite food of hers, if not _the_ favorite food. That was until Patrick Jane joined her team. For the first year, even he didn't seem able to tell. After that, she allowed a little smugness to slip into her experiences of eating raspberries. Even the great, observant Jane couldn't break into her secret ritual.

It was slow today. She was reviewing and signing paperwork while her team killed time at their desks. Looking at her pile of files, she sighed and pulled a Tupperware of raspberries out of her desk drawer. She needed a 'pick me up' to finish these files.

She was so involved in savoring the taste of the first berry that she didn't notice the body in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe with his gaze intent on her face.

She closed her eyes and allowed herself to remember the last time she had hit the beach. It was a little game she played sometimes, associating the taste of her favorite food with an experience. She swallowed, and then smirked. Her team would never think her capable of doing something so frivolous. She popped another berry into her mouth before opening her eyes.

She was startled to see her consultant's intense gaze fixed on her. She cleared her throat as she averted her eyes, hastily putting the raspberries away and working to swallow. Finally, with an empty mouth, she looked back to the door. "Yes, Jane? What can I do for you?"

He was silent for so long that she wondered if she had really spoken or if she had something on her face. Maybe some raspberry juice around her mouth. She forced herself to not reach her fingers up to her lips self-consciously. This was another game she played (well, tried to): not giving Jane the satisfaction of seeing her flustered. More often than not, it seemed that she lost that game.

Just as she was about to roll her eyes and get back to her paperwork, ignoring him, he spoke. "Nothing. Nothing at all."

He smiled knowingly, immediately making her suspicious. His gaze flitted down to her desk before going back to her face. His smile turned into a grin and he turned around, leaving her to her files. She blinked after him, not quite sure what had just occurred.

"Huh."

As the days passed, Lisbon noticed that Jane would appear (as if out of nowhere) whenever she dipped into her raspberry stash. The intense gaze that she had encountered in her office that afternoon weeks ago would reappear at times as she ate (even if it wasn't raspberries, actually), causing her to wonder what he was thinking.

As he didn't say anything, she still thought her secret was safe. After all, it wasn't like Jane to keep quiet about much, especially when he had the chance to showcase just how much he could decipher about a person. So she continued to indulge her _slight_ addiction (hey, should could kick it at anytime!).

Her illusions shattered one day when she came into the office early after having concluded a particularly stressful case the day before and found not only a container of fresh red raspberries on her desk, but also some chocolates filled with the succulent fruit. Her brow furrowed and she stood in her doorway, surveying her team's workplace. No one else had made it in yet—no, wait. There he was. Jane was on his back on the couch, his hands resting lazily on his stomach. He seemed to be asleep. She scowled a bit. So much for keeping something from him. Her scowl faded, though, as she eyed him. She knew from past experience that he may or may not be sleeping. She would bet on the 'not.'

She sighed. "Thanks, Jane."

She turned around and returned to her desk, not expecting nor really wanting a reply. Because of this, she missed the satisfied smile that crept across his face.

He thought to himself that he really shouldn't encourage her addiction—especially when said addiction so fascinated him that he found it increasingly harder to forget about the afternoon when he first saw the expression of complete happiness and reverie on Lisbon's face. He wished he knew what else could cause that expression.


	11. Red Pens

Sorry for the delay, but had that irritating "temporary" glitch that lasted for 3 days so I was unable to update. Here are three in place of those days!

30 Shades of Red:

Red Pen

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He had never liked red pens. In school, he thought it irritating when teachers corrected work with them—an asinine display of power and knowledge over their unwitting students. Okay, so maybe he felt a little more animosity than necessary, but he thought it probably stemmed from the fact that his short answers were always more…creative than most. And this is where the tension had entered. His teachers (and, subsequently, their red pens) thought he was wrong. He disagreed.

He had hated receiving papers filled with checks and minuses, little comments on his opinions and, therefore, his personality. Yes, red pen was ever a sign of censure. And even _he_ could admit that he didn't do censure well.

Now, as he watched Lisbon nibble on the end of a red pen, he could feel hostility building within, aimed at said pen. Silly that he felt enmity toward an inanimate object, but still. Her delicate white teeth contrasted with the deep red of the pen. He noted that she must be very distracted by what she was reading—normally, she never let herself fidget. With a jolt, he realized that his reaction to the scene was more than his usual remembrance of teachers who had had no idea how to deal with a little boy such as himself, but rather a reaction to the fact that Lisbon's hands and mouth were on that red pen. Not where _he_ wanted them. Her movements were almost sensual.

He worked to keep his facial expression neutral. He hadn't felt attraction to a specific person in a long time, since his wife. And he couldn't remember feeling lust when _she_ fidgeted. She had never been a fidgeter though, certainly never one to chew on the ends of pens. He knew that if Lisbon realized what she was doing, she would feel slightly embarassed (even if she thought no one had seen). She liked to control her behavioral traits, especially now that he had been working with them for so long. She had never gotten used to his 'reading' her and, in fact, generally disliked it.

Lisbon took the pen from her mouth and tucked it behind her ear as she opened a new file. His desire slowly fading, Jane mused to himself. He was a man, yes, but he had tried his damnedest to deny his body's urges. He wanted, _needed_ to live for one thing only: revenge. But he found, as he looked at the pen balancing behind Lisbon's petite ear, that this newly acknowledged attraction didn't discomfort him. Startle him, yes, but not discomfort him. It made him feel alive, something he sometimes felt he needed to be reminded of. The slow hum of awareness through his veins felt good. For a moment he felt a bit guilty, as if he were cheating on his wife, before he just let himself feel. It had been five years. His wife would have urged him to move on, he knew. And while he couldn't quite do that (at least, not yet), he could recognize that maybe, just maybe, there was still something for him in the world besides revenge.

All this self-realization stemming from a small moment in time with a single red pen.

He still didn't like them.


	12. Of Red Bows and Pigtails

30 Shades of Red:

Of Red Bows and Pigtails…

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Lisbon put her notebook away and went outside, expecting Jane to be out there somewhere so they could head back to the office. The way he disappeared when she was talking to a suspect could be so irritating. Especially when she was hungry.

She found him stooped on the front lawn, talking to a little girl in a polka dotted dress. His smile was gentle as he listened intently to the child, giving her his full attention. The dark-haired child was waving her hands about animatedly. Jane nodded in response and the little girl twirled about, revealing an undone red bow on the back of her dress. As Lisbon watched Jane carefully put it back in place, she felt a tug at her heartstrings.

She had never thought herself particularly maternal. Yes, she had helped to raise her brothers after her mom's death (they would say she had mothered them, but she maintained that she did _not_ hover), but she had not really felt that great yearning for her own children. She could count on one hand the times she had felt the urge to procreate. And if she was disturbed that more than one instance was caused by seeing Jane's interaction with children…well she could tell herself that it was coincidence. But imaginations were dangerous things, as far as she was concerned. Normally she had rigid control over hers, but there was just something about the contrast between man and little girl today…

For once, she didn't ignore it. As she watched the scene in front of her, she allowed herself to imagine that the little girl with dark curls done up in pigtails was no stranger, but rather her own daughter. The care in Jane's eyes as he looked down at the child made it easy for Lisbon to pretend that he was part of her imaginary family, a very important part. As she watched him converse with the small girl, she noticed a light in his eyes that wasn't usually there.

She couldn't be sure, but she thought it may be more than missing his own child. She thought that maybe he was just missing being a father in general. It wasn't something the team thought about often (if at all) since Jane often acted like a child. It was hard to imagine him raising one—sort of like the blind leading the blind. They should have known. Jane was nothing if not a continuous source of surprise. His patience and unflappable personality were seemingly perfectly in sync with children.

Jane wanted more children.

She wondered if he had realized it yet. She had seen signs lately. Signs that he may be opening up a bit more to the world or rather that the vast world was finding another place for Jane, one he never thought he'd find after the death of his wife and child. She thought he was finally, _finally_, starting the healing. Oh, he'd never get over it—who could? And she had found (after losing her mom) that it wasn't about leaving the baggage behind, but rather about finding a way to move forward with it, to not trip over it, and to be able to add more and not crumble under the weight.

Jane stood, seeing Lisbon frozen on the front lawn deep in thought. He smiled and raised a hand in acknowledgement. She shook herself out of thoughts and moved toward the car. As she was pulling out of the driveway, headed toward the office (and, thankfully, food), she couldn't resist one more look back at the little girl, whose back was now to them. It was hard for her to restrain the smile at what she saw: a perfectly tied, beautifully formed red bow accenting the girl's polka dot dress.

Patrick Jane's fingers remembered how to tie the bow of a girl's dress.

When Lisbon realized she wanted to teach him how to remember other things, she remembered once more how dangerous imaginations were…


	13. Red Pickup Trucks

Okay, I know next to nothing about cars—merely that you put the key in and they run (or at least they should). So forgive the mistakes concerning cars and pretend what I say is true and factual. I mean no offense to any car fanatics. Thanks to my brother for some inspiration!

30 Shades of Red:

Red Pickup Trucks

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Patrick Jane had never had a lot of guy friends. They were usually a little uncomfortable with him being able to do what he did. Reading people, that is. He usually made them quite nervous. Jane always wondered what they were hiding that made them so nervous, but it was more an idle curiosity and, really, he had those curiosities often enough that pursuing them would be a full time job. He was happy enough with the job he currently had—it allowed him to be as curious as he wanted.

He had never quite noticed (nor would he have cared if he had) the lack of male comraderie. He was at ease with men or women alike; however, he usually never let anyone close enough to him to become friend. Until his wife. She had been friend, confidant, lover, carer, and many more. He always thought that he may have loved her just a bit more than she had him. After all, she easily made friends. She was outgoing and personable. Admittedly, he was too—on the surface. But she genuinely let people in. He had always been thankful that his daughter had taken after her in that respect.

So when he joined the CBI, it never occurred to him that he would have any sort of initiation. That he would have to prove himself and his worth, yes. He assumed it would be all business.

After working with the team for a while, Jane realized that Cho and Rigsby sometimes watched him with calculating eyes. It had surprised him at the time. _He_ was used to be the one doing the watching. It wasn't until a sunny, summer afternoon that he realized that Cho and Rigsby didn't exhibit any of the nervous behaviour that most men (and women) did around him. So either they had nothing to hide (not likely, everyone was hiding something) or they had accepted his presence as a norm to their lives. He deduced it was the latter and was a bit startled to realize that he was pleased.

On the same day, he ran into them in the breakroom as he was looking for sugar packets to use in a slight-of-the-hand trick for the amusingly gullible newbies at the front desk. They were poring over a magazine. They looked up at Jane briefly, nodding acknowledgment before returning to the glossy colored pages spread on the table in front of them. Intrigued, Jane sauntered to their table to investigate what held their interest.

"It's a '59," Cho stated plainly. Rigsby looked outraged.

"No way! It's definitely a '57," he protested. The two were clearly in the middle of a heated discussion (some would say argument) concerning the year of the classic red pickup truck shown on page 34 of…Jane glanced at the magazine…_Trucks_. Hmm, original.

"Actually, gentlemen, I hate to tell you this," he spoke in a tone that clearly displayed how much he actually relished telling them, "but you're both wrong."

They stared at him. Jane leaned forward and tapped the page lightly.

"It's a '60. Its two-tone paint job is specific to that year," he finished, matter of fact. He turned away, spotting the stash of sugar that Van Pelt had hidden behind a box of raisins near the health food area of the counter. Ah-ha! Bingo! Van Pelt loved sugar in her coffee and it bugged her that Jane seemed to relish using up the sugar packs in his 'little tricks.' He supposed that he could find something else to assist in his performances, but why pass up a chance at ruffling her feathers? It was rather engaging—the way she tried to stay nice when she was mad. He idly wondered what it would take for her to really lose it, and then dismissed the thought. He would never push her that far, even if he knew he had the ability.

But really, it was silly of her to think that _he_ would treat the health food area like a pariah (although in all fairness, everyone else at the CBI seemed to) and thus not find said sugar packets. He smirked. It was clearly the first place she would hide them. Triumphantly snatching the packets up, he turned back to his colleagues who were watching him skeptically. That's right. The red pickup truck. He unabashedly grinned at them.

"It's true, you know. Go ask Grace to look it up on her computer if you doubt me."

Rigsby looked slightly uncomfortable, as if he felt bad for doubting Jane. Cho simply stared back, unrepentent.

"Okay. I will." Trust Cho to respond in all seriousness before turning, expression as neutral as ever. Jane shrugged and headed to the front of the building. He had some newbies to impress. It was hard to find an appreciative audience these days. Lisbon's team had become almost _too_ used to him.

When he returned to the couch, suitably entertained by the agents' responses, Cho and Rigsby were waiting. Jane raised an eyebrow in question. "Well?"

"You were right," Cho replied flatly. Rigsby laughed a bit.

"Good call, man," he said enthusiastically, giving Jane a solid thwack on the shoulder with his hand. Jane had observed this manly display of approval and acceptance before, but never been the recipient. It was…interesting.

He looked to Cho, who gave a quick nod before speaking. "Nice."

The two agents went back to their desks, incident forgotten. Jane slowly sank down onto the couch. Huh. All this time he had been working hard to show his contribution, to help them close as many cases as possible. They had gotten to be teammates, trusted each other with their lives, but in that one afternoon Patrick Jane became part of something he had never quite known. Once more, he was surprised by how satisfied he was at this realization.

He had become 'one of the guys.'

Who knew that intiation would be something as simple as knowing the details of a red pickup truck?


	14. The Siren's Red Light

For the sake of this part, let us all agree that Lisbon and her brothers were with the babysitter the night her mother died.

30 Shades of Red:

The Siren's Red Light

****************************************************************************

When Teresa Lisbon was a teen and the lights of sirens pulsed in her windows at night, she froze in terror. It had always brought her back to a cold, dark night when the sirens brought bad news. She could still remember the look on the officer's face, the way his voice sounded, as he informed the babysitter that her mother had been involved in an accident and that she wasn't going to be coming back. Her brothers had been asleep, but she had been curious and the bright lights had drawn her from her bedroom to the front hallway. She hadn't really imagined that the lights would be at her house. That kind of thing never happened. It must be the neighbors. She was wrong. Apparently it could (and did) happen to her, to her family. Since then, she had associated the lights of sirens with that bad night, that awful feeling she had felt, knowing that mom was never coming back. She sometimes wished she had been too young to understand. Then maybe she wouldn't have had the stupid fear that always came back at the sight of those lights.

As time passed, she began to remember less the horrible loss and more the kind officer who had spotted her in the hall—oh, the look on his face. It was understanding and sorrow and gentleness all at once. Every time she remembered that look on his face, her fear of the sirens diminished a little more. Slowly, her memory of that night, the grief of it, became mingled with the kindness of a stranger rather than the harsh red light from his vehicle.

It was part of the reason she decided to enter law enforcement. She hoped to be the same—kind, compassionate. It was hard to hear about the death of a loved one. She had never known quite how hard it was to be the messenger. She appreciated that officer more than ever the first time she had to be the one to inform a victim's family of the death.

She had thought about trying to track him down to let him know how much he had influenced her life. She wondered about him every time she spoke to someone about their family member's death. In the end, she was never one to reveal her feelings, her past. She felt uncomfortable mixing that part of her past with her present in the Bureau. So she decided that she would pay him back by paying it forward.

Now, red sirens didn't automatically take her back to that night, when she was so young, lost without her mother. Instead, she felt driven to help, pushed to find the doer who made her become a messenger. Driven to be for another what that man had been for her. A light at the end of the tunnel. Someone to be the good part of the bad memories.

Someone to stop the siren's red light from representing something terrifying. She wanted to be that person. Because then she wouldn't be that lost little girl waiting for her mother to come back.


	15. Fire Engine Red

Thanks to Lia Walker for leaving the review that spawned, *ahem* I mean _inspired_ this one.

And also a big thanks to Elodie for pre-reading to make sure I don't get too redundant. :)

*One more thing (sorry for all of the annoying notes): To celebrate me getting halfway done (Yay!), at the end of this fic I will do an extension of one of the chapters. I don't know which one (don't particularly care, either), but whichever chapter gets the most votes for a 'sequel' will be the one to win the extension. So keep that in mind, all! ...or you can tell me to let the stories go, lol, and I won't do a sequel.

30 Shades of Red:

Fire Engine Red

******************************************************************************

Jane knocked on her door before clasping both hands behind his back, still holding the file. Cho and Rigsby had sent him here to drop it off. Clearly, neither had wanted to go to Lisbon's apartment (he thought he heard Rigsby muttering something about the 'lion's den'). Van Pelt would have gone, but like Lisbon, she had already gone home for the night. So Jane had let them talk him into it. Honestly, he didn't even need convincing, but he couldn't let them know that. He was genuinely curious about Lisbon's living space. He had never been there nor heard anything about it. He idly wondered what it would be like to have Lisbon show up at doorstep to his empty house.

His thoughts were interrupted when the door finally opened, revealing Lisbon dressed in civvies. She looked remarkably adorable in her plain white t-shirt with dark jean Capri pants, no socks, shoes, or slippers. Barefoot. What really caught his attention was her toes. Well, actually her toenail polish—fire engine red. It was a feat that he managed to keep his eyebrows from raising in slight surprise. Who would have thought it of Lisbon? Hiding underneath those serviceable shoes were bright red, painted toenails.

"Jane? What are you doing here?" He quickly looked up to see Lisbon peering at him, alternately suspicious and worried. He was silent for a moment, enjoying the display of emotions on her face (did that make him a bit sadistic?). Just when he was sure she was going to practically grab him by his lapels and demand he tell her why he was here, he pulled his hands from behind his back and presented the file to her.

"Cho and Rigsby said you were supposed to go over this tonight," he said serenely. He could tell that she was annoyed that he hadn't just said that in the first place. She reached for it, about to thank him and send him on his way. He pulled it back, barely an inch, but she froze and looked up at his face. Seeming to sense that he wasn't going to go quietly into the night, she sighed.

"Would you like to come in?" Her voice sounded defeated. He knew she didn't really want him to enter her apartment (probably afraid that what he would see there would allow him to analyze her even better than he already could). He also knew that she knew him well enough to know when it was easier to just go along with him.

"I'd love to, thanks," he said, smoothly passing her as he entered. The front door opened right into the living room, with a hallway going off from one end and a doorway on the opposite (the kitchen, he supposed, predictable really). The apartment wasn't large, but then it wasn't small either. It was...cozy. Just enough furniture to give it warmth without being cluttered. Nothing on the walls save a single framed print by an artist he vaguely recognized. What was his name? ...started with a G...Goldsworthy. Yes, Andy Goldsworthy. Hmm, so she liked his work or just thought it was a pretty picture? Jane assumed it was the former. Lisbon wasn't one to think anything worthy simply for being 'pretty.' Interesting. He filed the information away, saving it for a rainy day when he had nothing better to do than analyze her preference for artists (and what it said about her).

There were no knick-knacks lying on the tables, but he noticed a single discrete frame on the cabinet by the windows. From this distance he couldn't see who was in the photograph. He heard Lisbon clear her throat and turned to face her. She had her arms crossed and one eyebrow raised.

"Done mentally perusing my personality via my apartment?" She asked dryly. He smiled, unrepentant.

"Not quite, but if you're so eager for my attention, I'm happy to oblige," he replied, knowing she always felt uncomfortable under the full weight of his gaze. She didn't disappoint, her face flushing slightly. He decided to let her off the hook this once. He didn't quite know why, but he was in a great mood suddenly (not that he had been in a particularly bad one earlier). "Here you go."

She seemed surprised and then grateful that he didn't mention her blush. He almost laughed when he saw a small light of suspicion enter her gaze. She reached out hesitantly to take the file, half expecting him to pull it away at the last minute. Finally, file safely in hand, she spoke. "Thank you."

He thought she would usher him to the still open door, but it was her turn to surprise him. "Would you like something to drink before you head home?"

Of course he didn't show his surprise, merely nodded like he had expected the offer the entire time. "That would be nice."

After shutting the door, she padded barefoot to the kitchen, once more calling his attention to her feet. They were tiny and delicate, reminding him just how petite Lisbon was. It was hard to remember sometimes, because her personality was anything _but_ small. Her bright red toenails kept his gaze riveted down. He was once more startled to find that he liked knowing that her toenails were painted. He had always thought that toes painted with red polish would remind him of his wife's murder, but that was not the first thing that came to mind when he saw Lisbon's daring toes. He was glad to have something else to associate red toenails with—something besides that horrible memory.

Besides, Lisbon clearly had a suppressed wild streak in her. One that she kept tightly reined in, but nail polish doesn't lie and fire engine red just screams a message.

And whether anyone knew it or not, Patrick Jane always listened to the messages that Lisbon sent, either consciously or subconsciously.


	16. Red Elevator Light

30 Shades of Red:

Red Elevator Light

**********************************************************************************

Lisbon slumped down further against the wall, staring at the infernal blinking red light that signaled an emergency. As if she couldn't tell. Of all people to be trapped in an enclosed space with, it just _had_ to be with him. With Jane.

"Lisbon."

She rolled her eyes and then turned her glare on him. "What?"

He put two hands up in a gesture of peace. "Why are you glaring at me? I didn't cause the elevator to become stuck. Even _I_ am not that talented."

She sighed at his cocky grin and restrained a scowl (it was difficult). "Fine. Yes, Jane?"

"Better, thanks," Jane responded approvingly. She fought the urge to assert violence over him. He continued. "Wanna see another mind trick?"

So far they had spent the last two hours in the small cubicle with Jane trying out his tricks on Lisbon, the majority of which ended in her flushed face. She was done. The blasted emergency light winked in red at her, inflaming her temper further. She wondered if she could climb through the emergency hatch at the ceiling. But, really, where to go after that? Climb the elevator shaft?

"No."

"But—"

"No."

"I—"

"No."

He flopped against the wall next to her, his smile dimming only slightly. Was he actually going to stay silent for once? Was he going to (gasp) follow her orders?

Her mind skimmed over the times that had happened and she discovered that she couldn't think of one example. Whether it had happened or not, her mind drew a blank. Her expression unconsciously drew into a frown. It could have been the fact that she had a pile of paperwork on desk waiting for her attention while she was stuck wasting time in this elevator. Or the fact that she was actually getting really hungry. It was lunchtime, dammit! Or maybe it was Jane's annoyingly knowing smile every time she answered one of his questions. But the fact remained that she was irritable. He knew it. She knew it. Knowing it didn't change it. And, being irritable, she wasn't inclined to alter her mood for Jane's sake.

Really, was it so difficult to follow orders? Was there a reason Jane seemed to make her life much more difficult than necessary? He could just as easily do his 'magic' in ways that would be manageable and kosher. It was his aggravating need for flair, much like a magician's urge for flamboyance. He was really like a child, sometimes. Although, most _children_ even followed orders better than Jane did!

She let herself take in the silence of the elevator. She relished it. She'd have to mark her calendar—the day that Jane held his tongue for (she glanced at her watch) three and a half minutes after she _finally_ triumphed, succeeded at not playing his mind games. This was cause for celebration. She felt her spirits rising again. She was certain he'd be silent until the team finally got them out of the elevator. Four minutes now. Ah, blessed silence. Wonderful, blessed sil—

"Lisbon?"

She slumped, all good spirits gone. She once more noticed the cheeky red emergency light. She wondered how quickly it would be replaced if she smashed it. He couldn't even make it five minutes. She was sure he lived to annoy her. And he knew just when to push her buttons—when to be smugly silent, when to talk incessantly.

The emergency hatch was looking better and better. She should have known that a silent Jane was too good to be true...


	17. Red Hit

30 Shades of Red:

Red Hit

**************************************************************************

Everyone knew Jane was good at Poker. Really, really good. Actually, Jane was good at most games, particularly ones that included other players and especially when one was supposed to hide their responses in order to achieve a win.

"E5."

"Miss."

Curious. Jane noted that Rigsby swallowed rather heavily before making his own guess, to which Jane dismissively responded. So, if not E5 then...

"D5."

"Hit," Rigsby answered, disheartened. Jane grinned happily. He knew that Rigsby only had one ship left—the one that only took two hits to sink. One ship that now had a little red peg in it marking it as 'hit.' Jane had only lost one of his ships, being able to manipulate his own expressions to guide Rigsby along to false waters, as it were. One more red hit and Rigsby was done.

When the time came, Jane's face resumed its serious expression and he looked across at Rigsby solemnly. "F5."

"You sunk my battleship," Rigsby parroted woodenly. He knew by now that Jane had to hear the words. Aloud.

"Why, thank you, Rigsby. Good game," Jane said cheerfully as he stood and leaned over the table, clapping Rigsby on the shoulder. Rigsby rolled his eyes and retreated to his desk, vowing to never play a game with Jane again—except games of chance. Maybe chutes and ladders...

Jane scanned the office, looking for his next victim. His eyes fell on Cho. Hmm. Cho would have a good Poker face. He might actually be a challenge. Cho, sensing someone looking at him, looked up.

"Why are you looking at me like that, Jane?"

"Cho, why don't you take a break from your book and come enjoy some intellectual stimulation?" Jane offered candidly. Cho's expression didn't change, nor did he move.

"Because Battleship is the height of intellectual stimulation," he replied, the sarcasm obvious to anyone who knew him. Lisbon walked by, heading toward her office.

"Well, Cho, for one with the mind of a child, Battleship is as good as it gets," she said, not pausing in her trek. Rigsby laughed.

"Ooh, she just sunk your battleship, Jane," he crowed. Jane didn't bother responding. He stared at the little red markers. He now had no partner. He had already tried Van Pelt, but she had sent him to Rigsby, mentioning something about her actually having real work to do and how Rigsby might be the more appropriate partner. What was he supposed to do for the rest of the day?

Hmm...vexatious. Maybe he just needed to change his strategy. A group game, possibly? Taboo?

Taboo was perfect. It forced the player giving hints to think fast, blurt out practically what came to their mind first and the other players' guesses were quite fascinating. One could learn _all_ sorts of things about a person from Taboo. Jane began to put the little, plastic red hit markers away. Now, how to manipulate the CBI team into playing Taboo rather than doing paperwork? The guys would be relatively easy, but the girls (always suspicious) would take more.

He wondered if he could convince Minelli that it was a good team building exercise.


	18. Dorothy's Red Shoes

There's a wee little homage to LOTR.

Thanks to MadamePassereau for catching my mistake!

30 Shades of Red:

Dorothy's Red Shoes

*****************************************************************************

Growing up, Lisbon had never particularly like _The Wizard of Oz_, but she had to admit that she had a sort of fascination with it. It was the shoes.

Dorothy's red shoes.

Since her mother had died, Lisbon hadn't felt that feeling one gets when they are home. Her mother had been the glue that held the family together, that made their house a home. When she was gone, Lisbon had tried to be that for her father and brothers. She had tried her hardest to save that feeling. And it had been saved.

But not for her.

She suspected it was different because she was a daughter missing a mother, not a son or a husband. She would never again receive the kind of womanly insight and advice that most females had at that their disposal (even complained about—Lisbon could only wish for something as extravagent as a meddling mother). So because she knew death was irreversible (even at a young age), she deeply yearned for that feeling of home, of coming home, of being home. L. Frank Baum had it right when he said there was no place like home. This worried her because if she had felt home before, but there was no place like it, did that mean she'd never know it again?

She had to laugh at herself, just a bit. Baum was human, not an omniscient god to bandy truths. Even if there was a thread of it in his fanciful imaginings. So sometimes, when she was really tired or drained, she let herself wish for glittering red shoes—Dorothy's shoes.

And she wished that words were as powerful as movies made them: 'there's no place like home.'

She knew they weren't. Words were fragile things. Easily used and abused. Lisbon often told herself that home was where you make it, but she couldn't always bring herself to believe it. So she would play the movie while she did mundane things—taxes, sorting bills, cleaning, laundry—and tell herself that it was nothing but background noise. Because she feared that the words were right. There would never be anywhere like home. And reality didn't offer red shoes that would fix it when combined with the right words. If reality was so kind, it would be just her luck that they wouldn't come in her size.

Pity.


	19. Red Moon Rising

Okay, all. Tomorrow is a really busy day for me so I probably won't have time to update then. Because of that, I'm adding another chapter tonight. Here you go!

30 Shades of Red:

Red Moon Rising

****************************************************************

Patrick Jane analyzed people. He had never really analyzed nature unless it was specifically connected to a person they were investigating. It wasn't until they finished up a particularly gruesome case that he gave nature a bit more thought.

An entire family had been murdered as a fun game, an initation, for some sick teens. Jane sighed. He was sitting on the front porch of his empty house. Normally, he welcomed the feeling he got inside—the guilt, the persistant drive to find his family's killer. Today, though, he just felt tired. Too tired to feel driven by revenge.

He cradled his head in his hands, exhausted. It had been hard to prove that it was the high school kids, but he had done it through meticulous attention to detail, as usual. He didn't feel so bad about catching the teens. They were clearly unrepentant. They had relished their misdeed, their violence. But watching the parents…well, that was painful. Most of them were bewildered, disbelieving. How had they raised such people? While he was generally a believer in nurture over nature, he could admit that some people seemed to genuinely be 'bad apples.' Nothing would or could change that.

Lifting his head from his hands, he looked up into the brisk night sky. Fall was a wonderful time of year. It had been his wife's favorite season—she had always said that it was a time of change and it somehow reminded her of people and places. She had believed that it was a reminder of the change, but also that there was a cycle to everything. Everything had an end, but could also begin anew. Summer would come once more. It would end again, but it would be back.

He wondered if that were really true of everything, as she had thought. Would he find happiness like he had with his family? Would the guilt, the vengeance, end as well?

'To everything there is a season.'

She had loved that line. Her parents had talked him into putting it on her gravestone, even though they had never been religious and Jane even less so.

Looking at the sky, he noticed the moon's red glow. A red moon tonight.

And right now, more than ever before, he could almost understand how people could be superstitious. How they could believe that a red moon may signal a terrible occurrence, a moment when lingering souls finally passed, or some such legend. Knowing that an innocent family was brutally removed from existence, he could almost think that the red moon was a show of their blood, spilled needlessly.

But, like he had often said, he didn't believe in things like that. Nature was simply nature. Scientific. Just as his own techniques used to analyze people were logical—_not _supernatural. Gazing at the sky, he wondered if the rest of the team had noticed the red moon.

He wondered if they bought into the superstitions about it.

He wondered what the parents of those teen criminals would do now.

He wondered about the passage of time and about changes.

He wondered how his daughter would have turned out had she lived…

What would she have thought of red moons rising?


	20. Red Wine

This type of scenario was requested (hopefully it's at least kinda sorta what you were looking for)—dedicated to Gina Molly Potter.

Wow, this one's rather long. Sorry! It kind of took on a life of its own. I still maintain that it is merely a drabble.

30 Shades of Red:

Red Wine

**********************************************************************

Lisbon didn't think she had ever felt this sick in her entire life. She hadn't even opened her eyes yet. Lying in bed, she breathed slowly and carefully, trying to keep from losing the contents of her stomach. What had she been thinking?

It was the red wine that did it, she was sure of it.

Last night had started off innocently enough (she heard that sentence _way_ too much in her line of work). A date with an agent from forensics. He had seemed nice. He was handsome. They weren't under each other's chain of command. He had asked her out for dinner and drinks on Friday night.

Much to the surprise of her team, she had accepted. Seemed like a good idea at the time (another line that never ended well). During the week leading up to her date, Jane had been more annoying than usual, teasing her and making cryptic comments. So by the time that Friday rolled around, both her patience and nerves were fraying.

She had changed in the restrooms at the Bureau so they could leave straight from work. She thought her outfit conservative—form-fitting black slacks and a deep emerald silk top paired with heels. Her hair was left down and curly while she had adjusted her makeup to something more suitable for a night out, her eyes having that slightly smudged look that gave them a smoky look. Cho, on his way out, had given her a kind nod.

"You look nice."

She smiled at him faintly, relieved that the rest of the team had already left. She headed for her office to grab her purse. As she was rummaging for her keys, she heard someone clear their throat behind her. Assuming a warm smile, she turned to meet her date.

It was Jane. Her smile dropping, curiosity took its place. "Yes, Jane?"

He was silent for a moment, taking in her ensemble. The look in his eyes made her rethink the top. Five minutes ago, she would have scoffed if anyone had insinuated that it was low-cut, but now, with Jane's gaze fixed on her, she somehow felt exposed. She squelched the urge to tug the neckline up. What was she? Fifteen?

"Where's he taking you?" She raised a brow at his question.

"I'm not sure and I don't feel the need to satisfy your curiosity," she responded cooly. She did not need another comment from Jane about this date. She wasn't sure what she'd do if he annoyed her further—it had been a _long_ week. It took a moment, but Jane seemed to snap out of whatever mood he was in and resume his normal cocky smile.

"Of course. Just curious," he chirped. He didn't say more so, having found her keys, she brushed past him. Tim from forensics was in the hallway.

"Teresa, you look great," he commented enthusiastically.

"She does look lovely, doesn't she?" Jane said, breaking in on the greeting of the two. Lisbon looked to him a little suspiciously. She did _not_ need Jane playing mind tricks on her date. She briefly wondered what life would have been like in high school if her father had been a psychic or even a mentalist. The thought caused her to shudder. Tim looked at her in concern.

"Are you cold? Do you need to grab a coat?"

"No, I'm fine. Let's go." She glanced once more at Jane to see his eyes laughing at her. She was sure he knew what she had just been thinking. Giving him a glare, she made a shooing motion. "Go home, Jane. Have a good weekend."

He smiled noncommitally and nodded.

She had been relieved at escaping without any of his shenanigans. Dinner was at a restaurant that was nice, but not too extravagent. She and Tim enjoyed a very tasty meal. The conversation not being stellar, she perhaps drank more than she would have. Normally, she steered away from alcohol. She had never gone through that phase in high school or college where she felt she had to party and get wasted all the time. She had seen alcohol do too many bad things—cause her mother's fatal car accident, help her father drift away from them, and at work she had dealt with too many cases involving the vice. But at the table there, not knowing how to jumpstart the conversation, she absent-mindedly imbibed more than usual.

He was nice. He was handsome. They weren't under each other's chain of command.

He was also boring.

She tried to tell herself that she liked staid men. She got enough spontaneity and charm from one particular man at work. She stopped herself. She _definitely_ needed to steer away from that train of thought. She took another drink of her white wine, trying not to make a face. She usually preferred red wine. Tim had ordered them white. It was fine really, supposedly went better with the entrée. But she had never been one to drink (or eat) something simply because it was the thing to do. She was more of a 'have what you like because you enjoy it' kind of person.

When they had finished, Tim offered to take her dancing. Forcing a yawn, she had said that it had been a long week of troublesome cases (not completely a lie, Jane was rather troublesome) and she'd like to call it an early night. Smiling apologettically, she tried to soften the blow by telling him how wonderful dinner was. He smiled back, satisfied. He drove her back to the office so she could pick up her car.

After giving him a short kiss (which sadly didn't give her any kind of feelings inside—it had been her last ditch effort to save the night), she climbed into her SVU.

"You're back early."

Startled, she jumped and suppressed a shriek—barely. Looking to her backseat, she glowered. "Jane! What the hell are you doing in my car? Actually, more importantly, how the hell did you get in it?"

"You leave a spare key taped under your top desk drawer," he answered. He was lying on his back across the seat, hands clasped on his stomach, legs bent to fit, and eyes closed.

"So, what? You decide that instead of sleeping on the couch in the office or, better yet, at _your home,_ you'd hang out in my car? How long have you been in here? This is strange. Even for you," she added, words lacking the bite of insult. She was proud that her words didn't slur once. Quite the accomplishment when saying so much. He opened his eyes and sat up in one smooth movement.

"You got back early. While Romeo there was bidding you adieu—bland kisser, by the way, I could give him some pointers for you—I climbed in your car."

She sighed. She wasn't prepared for his mindgames. It was hard enough to do stone cold sober. Once she'd had a few, it was damn near impossible. "Okay. Why?"

"You've had more to drink than normal," he stated simply. Her surprised eyes flew back to his face. How could he tell? He'd only observed her for a few moments. He leaned forward. "It's obvious in your mannerisms. You're not as meticulous about your movements as normal. Something about shedding your normal inhibitions and such—I won't go into the details; it would bore you."

"Oh." She didn't really know what else to say to that. He gently took the keys out of her hand and hopped out of the car. Opening her door, he spoke again.

"I'll drive you home and then catch a cab back."

Too tired to protest (and if she was being honest, too disappointed in her how her date went), she silently transferred to the passenger seat. The drive home was a bit of a blur to her. Once home, she slumped on her couch, ignoring Jane's presence. She heard him puttering around elsewhere, but didn't dwell on it. Staring at her feet, she concentrated on toeing her shoes off. Still focused on this action, she was perplexed when her vision was blocked by red.

To be specific, a glass of red wine. She looked up at Jane. He shrugged. "Looks like you need it."

She did sometimes like to relax with a single glass of red wine. She wondered if he knew that or if it was a coincidence. Rolling her eyes, she berated herself internally. Hardly anything was coincidence where Jane was concerned. He sat in the armchair.

"Not what you expected?"

She didn't play dumb. She knew he was talking about her date and, again, didn't have the energy to tell him to stay out of her business. Sometimes, with Jane, it was like going against the flow of an ocean—nearly impossible when exhausted. "Not what I wanted."

She quickly finished the red wine and was surprised when Jane tipped more into her glass. She looked up at him. He seemed strangely satisfied (he couldn't be _happy_ that her date was a dud, right?).

"You deserve to splurge."

They sat in silence—not uncomfortable or awkward. If Lisbon had less alcohol in her body, she might have seen the oddity of the situation. Jane at her house, plying her with wine. Strange. A knock sounded on the door. Her brow furrowed. Was that her door? Who was here this late?

She had the strange thought that it was one of her brothers here to beat up Jane (they had been rather protective during college when they had finally gotten bigger than her). She giggled a bit at the idea of Jane facing down overprotective brothers.

In her own world, she didn't notice that Jane was staring at her face, transfixed by the sound of her giggle. Lisbon. Giggling. He smiled softly. She was definitely inebriated. He stood.

"That's the cab. Goodnight."

She waved her hand at him a bit sloppily. "Night, Jane."

Making sure the door was locked on his way out, he had left. She had stumbled off to bed, barely stripping out of her clothes before falling into it.

And that's how she had gotten into her current predicament. Peeking one eye open, she closed it immediately upon encountering the harsh, intrusive light from her window. Warily, she forced herself to open her eyes. It was Jane's fault. Thoughtless of him to give her more alcohol and thus cause her hangover.

Red wine.

She liked it. Just not after a meal of drinking more than normal. Although, drinking it at home with Jane as her silent companion had somehow made her feel better. She brutally cut those thoughts off.

Great. Jane had seen her tipsy. Even though she hadn't even moved from the couch (she really was quiet and easily managed when drunk), she bet he had all sorts of ammo to use against her now.

Yup, she mused, the red wine had done her in. So why couldn't she bring herself to regret it?

Turning her head cautiously to her bedside table to check the time, her gaze fell on something unexpected. A glass of water and two aspirin.

Hmm. Okay. So maybe Jane wasn't that thoughtless.

But still, never again. Jane didn't need any help figuring out her thoughts and secrets. She sighed. Wasn't a hangover punishment enough for overindulging?


	21. Code Red

Quick note: thanks again to all the reviewers! Happy birthday again (now that I know), Aquila1!

Okay, also I know nothing of hospitals or their terminology. I do know that, unfortunately, there is not nation-wide standardization of codes, but 'code red' in a hospital is sometimes used to signify fire, incoming life-threatening trauma, or that a large scale disaster has occurred and the hospital's disaster plan must be put in effect. That's all I know. Sorry!

30 Shades of Red:

Code Red

********************************************************************

It was simply coincidence that Patrick Jane was there when they brought the victims in. Because the rest of the team had to be at the courthouse to testify as experts for a previous case, he and Rigsby had been sent by Lisbon to question the victim's husband in their most recent case. The man just happened to be a doctor at the nearby hospital. Jane didn't dislike hospitals, but neither were they his favorite place.

As they were finishing up their questions, an announcement came on overhead (Jane felt strangely like a high school student for a moment).

"Code red. All personnel available proceed to the ER."

Though short, the words that echoed through the building prompted a flurry of movement. Rigsby froze. Jane looked to his friend's face, a slight query in his eyes.

"It means there has been a large scale incident with a lot of incoming wounded," Rigsby answered the unspoken question. Jane nodded. Sad.

They were walking to the elevator when they heard it. A man's walkie-talkie device. The words that broke through the seemingly constant film of static made them stop their trek.

"_Bombing at the courthouse. ER is overrun with wounded. Triage is being run now."_

"Rigsby? Wasn't that where…?" Jane trailed off as he turned to the agent beside him. Rigsby had already pulled out his cell phone and was dialing rather frantically. Jane thought about reminding him that cell phones were not allowed in this area of the hospital, but, as he also wanted to check on the rest of the team, he remained silent.

After a tense moment of trying the cell phones of Lisbon, Cho, and Van Pelt, the two men started moving once more—the elevator and, thus, emergency room as their goal. Rigsby flashed his badge to get through all of the staff and security while Jane smiled charmingly and pointed helplessly to his colleague as he followed.

The scene in emergency was chaotic, but it did seem to be a sort of organized chaos. Jane ignored everyone, his eyes searching for three familiar figures. Rigsby seemed to be doing the same. The smell of slightly burned skin and cloth was acrid in their noses. Finally, he saw Van Pelt and Cho—each exhibiting small scrapes and bruises. Van Pelt seemed to be cradling her left arm gingerly and Cho's leg wasn't quite at the normal angle, but they sat there silently and patiently. Rigsby and Jane approached them quickly. Rigsby crouched in front of Van Pelt, hovering with his hands fluttering in the air as if he wanted to touch her to make certain she was okay, but was scared of further hurting her.

"Are you two alright?" Jane asked.

Cho nodded, jaw clenched a bit. "Think the leg's broken. Her arm is either the same or severely sprained."

"It's probably going to be a long wait. There were a lot of people there. We were lucky to not be in the direct location of the explosion," Van Pelt added. "They've already taken the worst back to surgery. They'll get to us next."

"Triage," Cho affirmed. Jane, noticing that Lisbon was not with them, wondered if she was in surgery.

"And Lisbon?" As soon as he asked the question, he heard her voice. Turning, he saw her clipping out orders to people, helping the staff sort through those who may have broken bones, those who had minor burns, etc. He couldn't help a slight smile. Of course, she would find a way to be in charge even here, even after being a victim in the incident. His eyes scanned her small frame, searching for injuries. He knew that Cho and Van Pelt were talking, explaining some more, but he couldn't listen. Rigsby would have to be audience enough for them.

Lisbon didn't seem to have any broken bones as her body moved confidently around the room. She turned to a little boy who was pulling on her pant leg and Jane saw that the sleeve of her left arm (which had previously been facing away from him) had been burned away and her skin was marred and slightly bleeding. His eyes narrowed. So she _was_ injured. He ignored the way his insides lurched. It was just worry for a co-worker, he told himself firmly.

Lisbon sat directly on the ground, apparently figuring her work to be done, and the boy dropped trustingly into her lap. Jane watched as she comforted the child, feeling yet another tug in his chest. Hmm, maybe he was having stress-induced indigestion. He would blame that on Lisbon. Shouldn't worry him like that. A healthy, friendly worry, of course.

One that would prompt him to spend the next twenty-four hours being Lisbon's shadow, much to her chagrin. He drove her mad in general. This…well, this hovering was far worse!

Jane gradually got used to the feeling in his chest whenever he thought about how close Lisbon had come in the courthouse. Curious that he didn't quite feel that when thinking of Cho or Van Pelt, but he managed to tell himself that it was only because she was integral in his work at the CBI. She understood him in ways no one else did and, to his benefit, kept him on the team. He needed her to be there for him so he could use CBI's resources in his quest against Red John.

He told himself that he was only worried about _his_ best interests as well as the safety of his friends, his co-workers. A normal work relationship.

And if he was a bit more tender in redressing her bandage (something he forced her to submit to—a troublesome process involving blackmail and manipulation), then it was merely coincidence.

If he found himself watching her more often, trying to discern if she was overexerting herself, just happenstance.

If he kept imagining her wounded arm, even when her skin had finally healed flawlessly, it was simply sleep-deprivation, a fluke.

And if he was a little worried every time she had to testify, it was nothing. Normal.

Or so he told himself.


	22. Red Apple

I'm dedicating this to Kathiann who inspired this through one of her own stories. : )

30 Shades of Red:

Red Apple

*******************************************************************

Lisbon unplugged her ipod from her computer and tucked it into her pocket as she sat back on the couch, leaning over to tighten the laces on her shoes. Satisfied that they were not going to come undone, she left her apartment and headed for the nearby trail. Reaching the beginning of said trail, she began her stretches.

She liked running. Generally, she tried to go for a morning run whenever possible—meaning: whenever she could bring herself to get out of bed in the very wee hours of the morning in order to run, shower, and make it to work on time. It usually only happened between cases.

Finishing her stretches, she pulled her ipod out and selected some music. She smiled slightly at the red device, reminded for a moment of her father and his cheesy humor. When he had seen her ipod, he had cracked a joke about her having a red 'apple.' While she failed to see a _great_ amount of humor in this, he had laughed uproariously and to this day chuckled when he thought about it. She knew this because he had this habit of occasionally muttering his thoughts under his breath.

She loved her father, but she was glad he had been too preoccupied when she was in high school and dating. He would likely have scared off the guys with his alternating weird humor and probing questions.

As her feet pounded mindlessly against the trail, the music played on. She supposed she got her eclectic taste in music from her father. She liked almost anything. She didn't listen to much rap or country—most of them weren't her cup of tea. She had to admit that there were some songs, though few, from each genre that she genuinely enjoyed. So her playlists were extremely varied.

She loved running on mornings like this. The crispness of the air, the silence (which, for her, was hard to come by, especially at work with Jane), the hum of music when she decided to bring her 'red apple,' and the stretching and bunching of her muscles with each step. All part of the package. It reminded her of when she had been in training—her body had never been more fit.

For the rest of her run, she let her thoughts wander—from family to work which, of course, led to thoughts of a certain blonde man. She always made it a point to not curb her thoughts during her runs. She felt it was healthier, more cathartic in a way.

Finishing the trail, she did her cool down stretches and headed back to the apartment to shower before leaving for work. Pulling out her ear buds, she wrapped the white cord around the red ipod. She let her thoughts run away from her one last time.

She hardly ever gave into temptation, but she found that, when she gave into those tempting daydreams, it was usually when she was using her ipod—her 'red apple.' Interesting.

A smirk graced her lips. Jane would have a field day with her if he really could read minds…

Apples and temptation?

Did that make her Eve? Hmm. She often felt more in the role of Adam being tempted, lured.

She wondered what that meant. She paused in untying her shoes, allowing her smile to grow. Even though her run was over, she let herself admit (a very rare occurrence!) that Jane was a temptation. She laughed a little and removed her shoes, padding in socks to the bathroom.

Did that make _Jane_ Eve?


	23. Red M&Ms

Thanks to Kathiann for the suggestion of red M&Ms!!!!!

Also, this is being posted a day early because I'll be away from home all day tomorrow (classes—so troublesome…). So no updates on Friday! Sorry!

30 Shades of Red:

Red M&Ms

***************************************************************

Jane stretched his legs out as far as they could go in the cramped airplane seats, which wasn't very far. Good thing it was a short flight. Next to him, Lisbon (with her short legs) seemed comfortable as she munched on pretzels. He watched her rip open a bag of M&Ms and dump them on her tray.

Still unaware that she was being scrutinized, she started sorting through the candies. Making a pile of the red M&Ms, she put the others back into the bag. As she folded the end over to keep them from falling out, she looked up and noticed him watching her.

"What?" she asked defensively. He shook his head with a smile. He wondered if she knew that she hunched her shoulders for a second whenever she thought he was going to tease her. There it was. The Shoulder Hunch. The sighting lasted only seconds because she didn't like any sign of weakness.

"The reds taste better with pretzels," she said quickly, as if by rushing the words they would cover her slight embarrassment at being caught out _yet again_ by Jane. Jane's facial expression remained neutral, but his hands tightened, the only (barely visible) sign of his thoughts. Lisbon, too busy trying to hide her reddened cheeks, didn't catch it.

He remembered his mother-in-law whispering to his daughter, the two giggling like co-conspirators. It had been a while since he'd talked to them—his wife's parents. They kept in touch through the odd letter or phone call. Jane had never been able to tell if his presence had hurt or helped them. Maybe now that they'd all had some time, they could meet again. He was sure to be able to gauge their reactions now.

It had been his mother-in-law who had taught his daughter to separate M&Ms. Not to weed out other colors, but to eat a specific color during a specific mood. One bag of M&Ms would last her for days that way. They were about the only candy that survived for longer than five minutes in the house. Hmm. What did red M&Ms mean again?

His daughter's impish face appeared in his mind's eye. Yes, that's right. Mischievous. Red M&Ms were for the mischievous mood. He and his wife had always known to be wary when the red M&Ms disappeared from her stash. Who knew what kind of trouble she was getting into? His wife had always teased that she took after him in that sense.

He had an uncanny feeling that his wife and Lisbon would agree on that. He wondered if they would have agreed on other things. Then he remembered that he probably wouldn't have met Lisbon if his wife were still here. Life was strange that way, he mused.

He couldn't regret meeting Teresa Lisbon, knowing her. He wondered what that meant for him, if he was starting to move on. It made him a bit nervous, but...not as nervous as it would have a year ago. Even six months ago.

Interesting.

He looked over to Lisbon, who was handing her bag of remaining M&Ms to Rigsby in the seat in front of her. Swiftly, he snagged a few of her red M&Ms. She whipped her head around.

"Jane! Hands off. If you want M&Ms, get some from Rigsby," she said, her hand hovering protectively over her own stash of red coated chocolates.

"I don't want those. I want the red kind," he replied. She frowned.

"You're not having any of my pretzels. And no more M&Ms," she warned. His responding grin surprised her, and then made her peer at him suspiciously.

"What?" he asked innocently.

"Why do you look so mischievous?"

Jane laughed and found the red M&Ms that made him remember his daughter's antics didn't make him sad, didn't make him feel possessive, but rather made him want to share. For the first time in years, he wanted to teach someone else what the colors meant.

But not today. For now, he'd relish the confused look on Lisbon's face.

"JANE!"

And pilfer her candy.


	24. Words in Red

Okay, I don't know much about the court systems in relation to juvenile delinquents so bear with me and let us once more pretend that what I write is the way of things. : ) Thanks!

30 Shades of Red:

Words in Red

**********************************************************************

Teresa Lisbon was tough. Hard as nails. And while she wasn't a particularly sympathetic person, she could definitely feel compassion—sometimes and, even then, she hardly ever showed it. It was a good defense mechanism. Kept her from getting too invested. It was even better when it came to Jane. She could feel for him; he had been dealt a rough hand. But she didn't pity him. And she knew he wouldn't want her to. In fact, it would probably annoy him. Any time she came close to that point, he cracked a joke, deflected by reversing the spotlight to her, or was so matter of fact about his situation that no one could feel pity anyway. Compassion was as close as you could get with Patrick Jane.

She had felt the same way. She had never liked being on the receiving end of pity, so she tried very hard not to be the giver of it, but compassion she could do. She could still remember how hard it had been for her. Losing a mother, raising her brothers. She remembered it so vividly.

That was why, on some of her days off, she volunteered to work with juvenile delinquents. Most of their offenses were minor. Things like shoplifting. Graffiti.

It was the graffiti artists who really caught her attention, drew her in. When her youngest brother had become a freshman in high school, he went through a rough time. Met the wrong people, made some wrong decisions. It really woke her up. Lisbon's other brothers had been good students, athletic, and by the book—just like she was. She hadn't known what to do at first. Her father still wasn't really _with_ the family. He worked, came home, ate the dinner she made, and went to sleep. Those were on the good days. The bad days…well, needless to say, he wasn't really there.

She remembered being called into the police station to pick her little brother up. He had been picked up for defacing a building. Graffiti. The owners had been kind enough to not press charges as long as he performed community service. Lisbon had decided to do it with him, knowing something was wrong and not really knowing what she could do to fix it. By pure luck, she had made the right choice. He had only wanted to be heard. He had felt like he was overshadowed, drowned out, in their family. It had been a long, hard road back, but together they had worked through it. She knew how lucky both she and he had been that he had turned around relatively quickly. Too easily, he could have gone down the other path. And she saw everyday at work where that path ended.

Now, she supervised the community service of kids who were like him. Today she was working with a kid who had done the same—defaced public property. He had been sentenced not only to community service, but also charged with the responsibility of cleaning up his mess. Watching the teen in front of her (he seemed little more than a boy to her), she rolled up her sleeves and joined his scrubbing. He looked up in surprise, then belligerence. She could see her brother in him.

"I don't need no help," he said sullenly. Ah, the grammar of inner-city students trying to sound like tough guys.

"You're getting it anyway," she responded. As she scrubbed at the wall, the water dripping down from her efforts became tinged with red from the paint. Amazing how cleaning could make someone get so messy in such a short period of time. A few minutes later, her clothes were liberally sprinkled with red. The technique of the work was actually commendable, she mused as she looked at what she was working so hard to remove. The words in red on the wall were quite beautiful, really. Illegal. But beautiful. He definitely had some artistic ability. She recalled the local art program at the community center, which she had had teamed with. Many of these kids needed a better outlet and some of them had real talent that was going unnoticed. Lisbon often tried to foster that talent by installing them into the program, which was run by a fantastic teacher who really cared about them. She thought this kid was a perfect candidate.

Oh, he'd probably act like he didn't care and fight her every step, but she could read the signs. She'd been doing this long enough. She was sure he could find a better path, like her brother had. Her cell phone vibrated in her pocket. Sighing, she stopped washing and pulled it out, heedless of her wet and dirty hands. Glancing at the text from Cho, she rolled her eyes and silenced the phone. She'd have to cut this short.

"Hey, let's call it a day. We can finish this up tomorrow. And I want to talk to you when we're done tomorrow," she added as he nodded, dropping his tools and hopping back like he was going to make a run for it. She frowned slightly. "Clean up your equipment first. Put it in the car."

She handed him the keys to her SUV, which seemed to surprise him. These kids really had no one to trust them. As he walked away with keys and tools, she smiled a bit. Like he'd get far if he stole a government vehicle anyway.

On her way to work, she wondered if she had extra clothes in her office. Mentally, she ran over the contents of the bottom drawer of her filing cabinet. Yep, she was almost positive she had backup clothes in it. Parking, she hopped out and headed toward the building. She received some odd looks from the people in front as she entered—like they'd never seen anyone in jeans before. Okay, to be fair, they had never seen _her_ in jeans and a t-shirt before. But still. It did not require that level of shock.

"Hey, guys," she called to her team, who had already gathered by their desks. They turned and she noticed the surprise on their faces. She could tell that they were curious and wanted to ask questions, but didn't want to pry. That was fine with her. She had work to do.

"What's all over your clothes?"

Jane, however, had no qualms with prying. She should've known.

"It's called paint." Knowing that wasn't the answer he was looking for (nor what he really wanted to know), she burst into action by calling out orders and getting the team moving. "I'll be back. I'm going to change."

Again she ignored the curiosity in Jane's eyes. Finally, something he didn't know about her. She knew it wouldn't last long. He'd find a way to figure what she had been doing before coming into work, but that didn't mean she couldn't bask in his ignorance for the time being.

Sometimes life was so good.


	25. Red Feathers

Hmm…Jane may be a bit OOC near the end, but not sure if those thoughts/realizations would ever seem quite in character anyway so…that's the breaks. : )

30 Shades of Red:

Red Feathers

****************************************************************

Jane looked down at the photograph in his hand, captivated. Was that really Lisbon? He looked up at their guest.

"Is that really her?"

The man seated on the chair across from the couch nodded, smiling a bit smugly. "She'd be so pissed if she knew I still had that photo."

Jane looked at the man, assessing his personality. He was someone who had worked with Lisbon years ago, back when they were both rookies. The photograph was of Lisbon when she was on an undercover assignment. Her old co-worker—Jim was his name—had relayed the details. She had rarely taken such assignments, but the part called for a dark-haired woman of petite stature.

He wasn't sure if he'd believe that Lisbon had done it if it weren't for the picture in his hands.

Lisbon. A waitress in a strip club.

Nothing against the profession, of course. Just not something he could picture her doing. Well, actually, he could now. Though waitresses themselves didn't strip, they were scantily clad. In this particular photograph, Lisbon was not only scantily clad, but also sporting a red feather boa wrapped enticingly around her neck. The things she did to stop drug rings…

"Jim?"

At the sound of Lisbon's voice, Jane stuffed the photo into his vest pocket. Strange. It was unlike him to be so secretive. Mysterious, yes. But to hide something like this? Unusual. He would normally flaunt it, tease her mercilessly. Jim stood and turned to Lisbon.

"Teresa, good to see you," he said enthusiastically, enveloping her in a hug which she returned with as much force. If Jane didn't know that Jim was happily married (wedding ring tipped him off about the married part; happily, he knew because…well, it was obvious—at least to a mentalist), he'd wonder about the two of them. Jane patiently waited for them to finish their embrace. When they pulled away from one another (Jane thought their hug had been a tad longer than was necessary, actually), they both started talking at once.

"What are you doing here?"

"Look at you. Head of a team!"

They laughed in unison. A bit sickening, Jane thought, openly observing them. Jim responded first.

"Had an errand to run in the area and thought I'd drop in and check out the place crazy enough to give you a position like this," he teased. Lisbon smiled in response. She was used to this Jim's teasing, Jane noted. She didn't blush for Jim.

"You're just jealous," Lisbon replied. "Good thing my team is away today, investigating. I'd hate to think what kind of stories you'd be telling otherwise."

Jim raised a brow. "Not all of your team is away. Who says I haven't shared some stories already?"

Lisbon looked over to Jane warily. Took her long enough to notice he was here. Jane smiled benignly, trying his hardest to look as aloof as ever. She looked between the two men before settling on Jim. "You didn't."

He laughed. "You'll never know, now, will you?"

Lisbon looked to Jane once more, trying her hardest to discern if he knew something he could use against her. Finally, she smiled. "No. You didn't. He would have taken great pleasure in teasing me by now."

Jim's brow furrowed slightly before he was lead away by Lisbon, drawing him into conversation. Jane watched them leave, sinking back into the cushions of the couch. True, he normally would have relished teasing Lisbon into a blushing state. Not today for some reason. Curious.

He pulled out the photo once more. Jim had left it and didn't seem to remember it anyway. He probably had the negative somewhere. He wouldn't miss it. From what Jane could tell (and he was usually right), Jim would just think he had misplaced it somewhere, not remembering that Jane was the last to hold it. Jane pulled out his wallet and tucked the photo into a pocket of it, alongside the portrait of his wife and daughter. He didn't stop to analyze his actions, unsure if he really wanted to.

He couldn't deny, though, that it was an act of caring. Men only carried portraits in their wallets if they cared. It scared him a bit. Look what happened last time that happened. And Lisbon was in the line of danger quite often in her line of work. Maybe not the smartest choice he'd ever made—caring about her. But it seemed that his iron will was fading a bit. Somehow Lisbon was sneaking in under it. The whole team was, really. Perhaps he was getting too emotionally invested in his colleagues.

He didn't think there was anything he could do to change it and could practically hear his wife chiding him. 'Let more people in,' she'd always admonished. Well, whether he wanted to or not, it seemed the CBI team was coming in (sometimes forcefully). He was slowly realizing that they were an integral part of his life now. And today he realized something else. He couldn't deny his attraction to Lisbon—at least he would admit it to himself. She was intriguing. More intriguing was his own silence on the photo and his knowledge of it. What did that mean? And, while he questioned his desire to keep it close to him (with the two other people he cared about most in the entire world), he didn't think he was quite ready to look to closely at his feelings for her beyond friendship. He smiled a bit, lying back on the couch and staring at the ceiling. He loved that he learned something new about her everyday, though.

Who knew she looked so good in red feathers?


	26. Right Hand, Red Circle

Okay, so this isn't wholly unconnected to the previous chapter on Jane titled 'Red Hit,' but I couldn't ignore this idea so…here it is! : ) Also, I don't quite have the next chapter written so there may not be an update tomorrow. I'll try my hardest, but no promises. Sorry!

30 Shades of Red:

Right Hand, Red Circle

****************************************************************

A thud followed by laughter. Lisbon looked up from her file, wondering what the hell was going on outside of her office. She had gotten behind in her paperwork (it was just so tedious) so she had shut her blinds in order to dedicate her full attention (well, almost) to it. Unfortunately, this resulted in her not knowing what was happening with her agents outside—normally, an okay occurrence. However, the ruckus made her nervous. Honestly, anytime she left Patrick Jane unattended she was nervous. But especially when there were _noises_.

She looked to her pile of files, which seemed to rival Mt. Everest, and then turned her gaze to the door. Sighing, she got up and made her way to the door. So much for getting work done. She knew she should have just given Jane the day off.

Opening her door, she froze at the sight in front of her. Desks and chairs were pushed aside to make an open space. And in that open space?

Who else but Patrick Jane?

And Cho. And Rigsby.

She was happy to note that Van Pelt, at least, was sitting at her desk working—well, trying to. Lisbon could understand why it would be difficult.

"Jane!" she barked out. She was pleased to note that her two agents jumped, startled. This pleasure faded as she looked into the grinning face of her consultant. She continued. "What are you doing? This is a workplace, not Chuck E Cheese!"

The three grown men were twisted together on a mat full of colored circles—a game she recognized as Twister. To the side, a newbie (obviously recruited by Jane from the front of the building) held the spinner. He looked to the contorted men, to Lisbon, and back to the game.

"Uh…right hand, red circle?" he stated uncertainly. There was a moment of silence and immobility. Lisbon knew, she just _knew_, that there was _no way_ they would continue despite her presence.

She was shocked once more as the still moment ended and the three men scuffled with each other, each trying to claim a red circle and hold their balance. Van Pelt glanced up at Lisbon.

"I tried." She sounded apologetic. Lisbon nodded her acknowledgment. Really, it wasn't the rookie agent's fault. Jane raised an eyebrow at Van Pelt's statement.

"You don't know what you're missing, Grace. You should hop in, Lisbon," he encouraged. "Also, they don't have Twister at Chuck E Cheese."

He seemed to contemplate that for a moment before making a slight humming sound. "Pity, though. It's quite fun, actually."

"Says you," Cho responded, clearly getting annoyed at being in such close quarters with his colleagues. Van Pelt rolled her eyes.

"If you don't like it, why are you playing?"

"Jane dared me." Cho's tone indicated that Jane's dare and his subsequent actions spoke for themselves. Rigsby coughed, his arm starting to ache from his current position.

"Can we get on with the game, guys? I don't know how much longer I can hold this position."

Lisbon stared at them in bewilderment as they resumed the game. What the hell was wrong with the men on her team?

"Jane," she spoke slowly and clearly as if to a wild horse that needed taming, "you are _never_ to bring coffee in the morning again."

She hadn't had any, had she? Mentally, she reviewed her actions of the morning. No, she was sure she hadn't had any of Jane's proffered coffee. Thank the powers that be! What had he put in it?

"Sure thing, Lisbon," Jane replied cheerfully. "I didn't put anything in it, though."

She hated when he did that! As she watched them try to maneuver their legs to get their feet on yet another small circle, she mused at how different the atmosphere at the office was since Jane had started. There had always been the kind of pranks and teasing that developed among peers, but Jane brought something different—a kind of lightheartedness that no one had noticed they lacked until he added it into their weekly routine. Lisbon wondered how many times he had steered agents away from the depressing thoughts and moods that accompanied law enforcement. Sure, most of the time they ignored his antics or pretended to be unmoved, but she knew he had helped quite a few of them. And days could be pretty boring when Jane didn't come in. But that didn't mean she could allow them to flagrantly ignore their responsibilities and set up a playgroup in the middle of the bullpen, for Heaven's sake! As she scowled, Rigsby, not being the most flexible guy, fell to the ground, but he was determined not to go down quietly. Hooking a flailing foot around Jane's ankle, he brought the other man down with him. Cho alone remained intact and upright. Rigsby groaned and shoved Jane's arm off his face.

"I think I broke something."

"Yes, your dignity," Lisbon put in dryly. She should really write them up or something. They had work to do, serious work. Crime to fight, people to save and whatnot. Cho stood and crossed his arms, assuming his normal stance.

"I think that was sufficient in proving you wrong." Cho turned and went back to his desk. Jane, lying on the floor, tilted his head up to Lisbon. His smile and the light in his eyes tipped her off. Cho hadn't proved Jane wrong at all. It had been a set-up. As usual, Jane was using his tricks to manipulate the situation. He knew which buttons of Cho's to push in order to achieve his objective. She sighed and turned back to her office.

"Just clean it up before Minelli gets back from lunch," she tossed over her shoulder. If she were a betting woman, she would have put a twenty on the fact that Jane's smug smile had just turned into a wide grin. She slammed her door, closing their childish antics out.

Jane stared up at the ceiling, his rivals having gone back to work. His smile had dimmed to a soft, gentle one. If anyone had been looking at him, they wouldn't have recognized the expression. _He_ didn't even know if he quite recognized the feeling. Bewildered Lisbon was a nice sight.

Good thing Lisbon wasn't a betting woman. She would be twenty dollars poorer.


	27. Unpaint It Red

Okay, so again it may be OOC, but I wanted this for me. 30 chapters (even of short stories) are a challenge (at least for me) so this is a little treat for myself. Hopefully, you all find some enjoyment in it. Happy Wednesday!! : )

30 Shades of Red:

_Un_paint It Red

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Patrick Jane sat on the bare mattress, back to the wall. His elbows leaned on his knees and his hands were cupped together under his chin as his eyes stared straight ahead, gaze intense. After about an hour of remaining still, he stood and removed his suit coat, rolling up his sleeves.

It took hours. Scrubbing, cleansing with bleach, repeat process. Finally came the coat of white paint. Over the entire room.

Red John's mark was gone.

Patrick Jane realized that he didn't need it as a reminder of his wife and child—he would _never_ forget them. He didn't need it to press him, push him to find their murderer. It was clear that he would never stop hunting Red John whether his wall was white or red. Looking at the wall, bare and white for the first time in over five years, Jane sighed. He felt as if a heavy weight left his body with that sigh.

No longer would that laughing, jeering face loom over him. He did not need the presence of evil to remind him that it existed. The loss of his family was reminder enough and for _that _he did not need a physical symbol to make sure he wouldn't forget. He would never forget. He took a deep breath. The fresh scent of paint reminded him of when he and his wife had painted their daughter's nursery. Well, she had picked the color and he had painted. Jane thought that pregnant women should stay well away from the fumes of paint. Yet after he had finished, he had stood behind his wife, encompassing her in his embrace, as they stared at the lavender color on the walls.

Jane's senses had always been very acute and his incredible mental abilities also came with an incredible memory. His memories had always been connected with sight, sound, smell.

So Jane closed his eyes and breathed in once more. With the smell of the paint, he heard his wife's soft laugh, practically felt her weight in his arms. If he had known then—when he had put his hands on his wife's stomach to feel closer to his little girl—how it would all end he…

Jane's eyes opened. He wouldn't change a thing. Perhaps he wouldn't have openly taunted Red John, yes. And maybe he would have asked for police protection. But he would have still married his wife. He would still have painted the nursery lavender for her. He would still have helped to bring his baby girl into the world. And he would still have provided for them the only way he had known how—as a charlatan.

But still. Life would have been the same. He sat cross-legged in the middle of the floor. Even if he had left Red John alone, Jane couldn't have kept bad things from happening. Maybe they would have lived long, happy lives or maybe his two girls would have been hit by a bus, killing them instantly. Jane had surely heard stories of many of these freak incidents, sudden and accidental deaths, in his jobs as both fake psychic and mentalist.

He supposed he was lucky. He had a man to hate, to focus all of his anger on. Many had nothing. Many had to come to terms with the deaths of their loved ones by finding peace, finding closure, out of thin air. Jane was lucky in that sense.

He thought he may be getting closer to a sense of peace and wondered at the role of the CBI agents in that process.

When Red John was killed—even if he was only put away for life, Jane was beginning to realize—Jane would be on his way to closure.

Feeling more at home, closer to his wife and daughter, than he had in a long time, Jane sat on the floor in that room. The room that had brought him so much pain, but also that had brought him so much joy and love, hidden for a time underneath that pain.

Perhaps it was time to remember that. To remember that and the smell of fresh paint.

It would take weeks for anyone to notice something was different about Jane. At first, it was just an air about him, less somber. Yes, even in the joking Jane his colleagues could define a somber quality, but it started to lessen. They began to think that something else just _looked_ different about him, too.

And, months after the day that Patrick Jane painted over the hate to find his happier memories, Cho finally realized what was different.

Jane no longer wore his wedding ring.


	28. Lacy Racy Red

This one's a bit more racy than normal so beware. Also, here's a nod to Kathiann, who may have triggered my subconscious with her Shopping story—this one's for you! ; ) [in a totally non-creepy, just friends kind of way…lol]

30 Shades of Red:

Lacy Racy Red

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Although Lisbon's brothers had never really noticed or thought about it, Lisbon knew she had not been the most feminine teenager. She supposed it was a combination of living in a house full of boys, not having her mother around, and being too preoccupied with what she was going to make for dinner than what she was going to wear the next day.

Not that she didn't like skirts, heels, glitz, and glamour. She just realized that life didn't revolve around them. And her life, especially, had little room for them. Cops did not have time to be beauty queens—especially if one wanted to compete with the guys. It was easier not to emphasize your gender.

But her suppressed femininity found a different outlet, more subtle and private. Lingerie. Lisbon liked to wear sexy bras and panties. Black, pink, white, red…red was her favorite. When she put it on, she felt in control and daring. In lingerie, it felt somehow bolder than other colors. So underneath those demure suits and sweaters, she wore risqué undergarments. Racy lingerie. Aside from the men she had slept with in the past (none of which she ever saw anymore or even kept in touch with), it was her little secret.

Until that fateful afternoon.

No one had walked in on her changing. Nothing so dramatic, of course. But then, real life was hardly that dramatic. The team had gone on to the restaurant to snag a table and place the order for drinks while Lisbon checked them into the hotel. For some reason, Jane had opted to stay back with her. She didn't know why, but then she never really knew why Jane did anything unless he outright told her. She had decided to put her bag in her room so she wouldn't have to worry about it after dinner. Jane had disappeared—probably wandering around within shouting distance, as usual.

The closures on her suitcase snagged on the door as she pulled it out of the car, causing it to open and spill its contents. Sighing, she stooped to gather her belongings. Good thing it hadn't rained. That would just be a pain in the ass. She jumped as another set of hands joined hers in scooping up her clothing. She looked up into the face of Jane, stooping opposite of her.

"I can get it, Jane," she said, dumping things back into the case.

"Of course you can. I'm just helping so we can get to dinner in a timely manner," he returned, unflappable. He glanced down, and then looked back up. Quirking a brow, he continued. "I would have never guessed, Lisbon."

With growing apprehension, she looked down to the object he held in his hands. Red, barely there panties. Feeling her face warm, she snatched them back. He grinned.

"I assure you, it's nothing to be ashamed of," he said soothingly. "In fact, few women can pull that style off and I'm quite sure you're one of them."

Not wanting to even consider what that statement meant, Lisbon snapped her suitcase shut and stood. "We are not having this conversation."

"No problem," Jane responded cheerily as he grabbed his own bag. Holding the door of the hotel open, he motioned for her to precede him. She did, heading down the hallway. She had the strange feeling that his eyes were on her derriere. She reached her door and unlocked it before turning around to give him his keys.

Sure enough, he raised his eyes from her pelvis area, a questioning look on his face. "What color today?"

She froze, certain—_absolutely certain_—that he had not just said that. He had not just asked what color her lingerie wa—

"Is it black?"

He had.

Jane would later marvel at how fast Lisbon had moved. Practically before he had finished his question, he was talking to her hotel door.

After making Jane sit in the hall for a few minutes (something that, irritatingly enough, didn't seem to phase him at all), Lisbon had come out and let him into his room before they headed for dinner. He never mentioned it again, but over the next couple of weeks she would sometimes catch his speculative gaze perusing her body. She always glared warningly when she noticed, but he seemed annoyingly blasé and his intense gaze usually made her look away or find a reason to be somewhere else.

It disturbed her more, however, when she purchased her next bra and panty set with him in mind—a deep blue that reminded her of his eyes. She was further troubled when she did it a second time—a dark emerald like the sweater he had complimented last week, saying it made her eyes sparkle. Yet still, red lingerie continued to bring out her daring side. This daring side made her imagination beat common sense to the ground, which then allowed her mind to recall how Patrick Jane's hands had looked holding her lacy racy panties.

It was getting harder to suppress the thoughts _that_ brought to mind.

Especially because she was beginning to question why she should.


	29. Red Tips

Second to the last chapter! Jane's last chapter…

30 Shades of Red:

Red Tips

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Patrick Jane watched Lisbon's face slip from surprised to pleased. She coughed lightly and tried to cover her small smile with an aloof look.

"What is this for?"

Jane looked at the single rose in her hand, the petals a soft yellow that faded at the tips into red. He looked back up at her and grinned cheekily. "No reason."

She tried to look gruff. And failed. "Thank you, Jane."

He nodded and left her office. As he passed Rigsby and Cho, they rolled their eyes at him, suspecting that he was just trying to get back on Lisbon's good side after his last shenanigan. He knew that Lisbon thought he was just being spontaneous and random, maybe digging for information, trying to throw her off balance. He smiled serenely at the two male agents, content to let them believe what they would. In fact, it didn't matter to him at all if no one understood why he had given Lisbon a single yellow rose whose petals were tipped in red. All that mattered was that he knew what it meant. Somehow, that simple act of giving her the flower had settled all of his uneasiness. He lay back on the couch, ready to take a short nap.

A rose was generally seen as a romantic gesture, but most people saw yellow roses as rather ordinary, a gesture of mere friendship as indicated by the color. Like there was anything "mere" about friendship. He smirked. Nor was there anything mere about Lisbon.

With his eyes closed, he hadn't noticed Van Pelt return from her coffee run. He also hadn't seen her enter Lisbon's office. Only when he heard Rigsby call out her name did he open his eyes, looking for an offering of coffee. He noticed the slightly shocked look on her face as she stared at him from her spot by Lisbon's office door and made sure to keep his expression neutral. Absentmindedly, Van Pelt handed two coffees off to Rigsby (one for him and one for Cho). Rigsby, focused solely on his caffeine fix, did not notice her preoccupation. Van Pelt headed to the couch. Jane sat up and she dropped down next to him, handing a cup of java over. They each took a sip of the hot liquid.

"So," Van Pelt said. Clearly there were no other words to describe what she was thinking. Jane looked to her and their eyes met briefly. He knew she saw the answer she was seeking.

"So," he responded, looking forward again. They were silent for a few moments.

"I'm glad," Van Pelt said before standing and getting back to work. Jane stayed there, seated in a relaxed position. He knew it didn't matter if no one understood his actions, but just this once it felt nice to have Van Pelt in on it, to have her approval. And he knew that she would keep his secret, his confidence.

Because Grace Van Pelt knew that red-tipped yellow roses meant friendship falling into love.

The red tips made all the difference.

There was nothing "mere" to the rose that Jane had given Lisbon.


	30. Red Faced Realizations

Okay, everyone! The final chapter! Hope it lives up to expectations while still granting a feeling of finality (or maybe some kind of closure…maybe). Thanks to everyone who read (and reviewed!). Don't forget to let me know which chapter you think should have a continuation/sequel. Also, in this, Lisbon has nephews. Please play along… : ) Big thanks to Elodie Wolf for her pre-reading!! (and also to mwalter1 who previously wrote a fic called Red Faced, which kinda sorta inspired this—at least the title)

Also, since there have been no disclaimers throughout, I thought I might point out that I do not own The Mentalist or any characters of it—it's pretty clear that if I did, I would not have to post these stories because they would be shown in a televised version for our Jisbon viewing pleasure. ; p

30 Shades of Red:

Red Faced Realizations

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Teresa Lisbon was surprised she hadn't realized earlier. After all, she was a CBI agent, for heaven's sake! Sitting on her couch in the cozy darkness, she reviewed the steps that had led her to this point.

In her defense, it had started slowly, inconspicuously. Mostly after tough cases. She wondered when it had become a norm to spend her Friday nights with Jane. It wasn't like they went to the symphony or out for expensive dinners. No, they grabbed a burger or ended up at her place with a rented movie. Actually, it was rather bewildering. Only Jane could make something that was so out of character for her seem to be so natural.

The first time it had happened, she had been at home. Having rented a new release, she was popping popcorn to enjoy with the movie. One of her guilty pleasures was homemade popcorn, not the microwavable kind, but the kind that you pop yourself on the stove. It had been a family tradition on movie night—back when they still had things like family traditions. Back when her mother had been alive. As she poured the popcorn into a bowl, she absentmindedly wondered when her brothers had last enjoyed it with a movie. She wondered if they even remembered that tradition, and then felt a bit guilty for not continuing it. Maybe if they were all together for Christmas this year, they could revive it. She was sure her nephews would love it.

She jumped a bit when there was a knock on the door. She wasn't expecting company—as evidenced by her loose pajama pants and skimpy tank top. She looked longingly at the popcorn sitting on the counter before sighing and going to the door. She barely had time to register Jane's smile as he quickly brushed by her, toeing off his shoes and taking off his suit coat. She turned to him, bemused. "Jane?"

He was already by her TV, inserting the movie into the DVD player. He studied the movie case, uncharacteristically silent for a long moment before speaking. "Good choice. I haven't seen this one."

Finally regaining her senses, she shut the door (although she still wasn't quite sure what was happening). "Did you need something?"

"Yes, some of that popcorn you just made," he answered, flopping onto her couch.

"Jane," she started in a warning tone. His shoulders slumped a bit before he turned his head to her, their eyes meeting. She was a bit startled by the yearning in his eyes. Yearning for company—_her_ company. The case they had just closed had been tough for everyone, but more so for him. A dead little girl, killed by a father who didn't care. A man who had thrown away the very thing that Jane passionately missed. Lisbon found she couldn't deny Jane, not with that look in his eyes. "Start the movie. I'll get the popcorn while the trailers are going."

Thus began their tradition of Friday nights. Movies, pizzas, burgers. Anything, really. After about five months, she realized that she was more relaxed in Jane's presence. A month after that, for the first time, she let Jane be when he fell asleep on her couch. She wasn't even uncomfortable when she awoke to find him doing her crossword puzzle at her kitchen table. And he didn't treat it as an abnormal situation, simply greeting her as if they were in the office and pointing out the coffee he had made.

And she hadn't quite connected the dots when he started leaving her things. Honestly though, he had done it before. And they were simple things—like her favorite coffee, raspberry truffles, a bagel when she missed breakfast, a daffodil or tulip on a rainy day. It wasn't like he was bringing her roses. In fact, she had only received that one rose from him—yellow, for friendship she supposed—and that was before they had started spending time together outside of work.

So she thought it was logical that she hadn't noticed. Tonight, near the end of their movie, she had closed her eyes, exhausted yet not asleep. She had thought she was in a dreamlike state when she felt something brush against her forehead. It had been a long time, years really, but she recognized the feeling. Opening her eyes, she encountered the strangely piercing gaze of the man sharing the couch with her. He had seemed to be waiting for her acknowledgement. It was then that she realized that she hadn't dreamt that feeling. Patrick Jane had just tenderly kissed her forehead.

Feeling a little disoriented, she realized that she recognized the look in his eyes. No longer was it lonely or yearning for company, but content and watchful. Waiting.

For her.

When she realized what he was waiting for, she couldn't help the blush that crept upon her cheeks. Even now, after all these months, he could still make her red faced.

She was surprised it had taken her so long. Thank goodness Jane was patient. All this time she had been waiting for him to get some closure, to feel like he could move forward (if not move on), and it was she who ended up being left behind.

She had a lot of catching up to do.

Smiling softly at him (a sight that was enhanced by her soft blush in his opinion), she inched closer to him on the couch, decisively wrapping her arms around him and laying her cheek against the vest of his suit.

All this time denying feelings for him, keeping her mind from thoughts of a relationship with him…only to come to the red faced realization that once more he was a step ahead of her, just waiting for her to join him. As his arms came around her, she rolled her eyes. How like Jane to keep her in the dark. She supposed that the fact that she was amused by this, not irritated, said something about how far they had come. She wondered how long he would have let her continue in the dark. Knowing him, probably forever.

Oh, well. At least they were finally on the same page. She couldn't help the small smile that reappeared at this thought. She wondered if she could convince him to keep it that way—maybe he would stop teasing her, stop purposely making her blush.

Yeah, right.

And maybe psychics existed.

She felt him drop another light kiss on the top of her head. Hey, stranger things had happened.


End file.
